Heart of Silver
by spittingllama7856
Summary: Tom knew what love was. He was surrounded by it, overwhelmingly, when he was with his only friend. He knew that he'd probably lose that if he was honest, so why did he even say anything in the first place? This is the price of beauty. . . One-sided Tom Riddle Jr./Abraxas Malfoy, the breaking of a heart, and a promise never to be broken.


**_The Houses Competition information_**

 _House: Hufflepuff_

 _Position: Prefect 1_

 _Category: Themed #1_

 _Prompt: [Object] Wishing Well_

 ** _Romance challenge information_**

 _Day/Fic Number: 03_

 _Representation: Rare Pairing_

 _Word count (excluding A/N and time-tag): 2283_

 _ **Warnings**_ _: Possible OOC Tom Riddle Jr.; One-sided Tom Riddle Jr./Abraxas Malfoy slash; Tom Riddle Jr. & Abraxas Malfoy friendship; Heartbreak; Disregards the theory that Voldemort is incapable of love; Suicidal thoughts, though slightly hard to actually pick out; profanity. _

Many, many thanks to Pix, Aya, and Zoe for beta-ing this for me!

 _1941- The Forbidden Forest_

Snowflakes drifted slowly from the ink-black sky, little white specks that caught on eyelashes and icy branches. They were so soft that simply touching them with a warm hand would cause them to melt instantly.

There was a curved stone bench in the center of a clearing in the forest, the soft snow obscuring the declarations of eternal love carved into the weathered seat.

 _Is that what love is? Setting a wand to stone and making the promise that you would be with someone for the rest of your life? It seems so simple. . . why isn't it?_

Behind the bench was a wishing well, cracked and covered in ice. It had been closed up for years, all the coins that had been tossed inside taken by an unknown thief. Weeds that once sprouted and grew up the sides of the well were dead, limply dipping into the stretch of white that blanketed the dirt.

Frosted, silvery blossoms sprouted up from the ground, out of the powdery snowfall and into the bitter air. The ground beneath the snow was frozen. It must've been freezing for the flowers buried in the snow.

 _Is that the price of beauty?_

The trees rose high into the starless sky, always reaching higher, and higher, and higher, neverending. . . it was a silly thought, if Tom ever knew one.

Tom's blue eyes scanned the clearing he stood in, his dark hair collecting a fair few of the snowflakes drifting down from the sky. He wasn't bothered by the cold—never had been, in his thirteen years of living. He didn't bother with the charms he knew to make him warmer or repel the snow. There was no point.

He'd discovered the place when it looked much different than the wintery scene he observed now. It had been May then. The sun had been setting, a blood-red ball of fire in the sky. It had enchanted Tom, and he hadn't come back since. Nothing so mundane should've caught his attention. No human or creature alive had been able to do that.

 _Until now,_ the voice in the back of Tom's head whispered. He acknowledged that yes, that was true, someone _had_ grabbed his attention.

Tom only needed a place to think, now. He prided himself on being able to do so in any environment, but even Tom knew some people would notice his mood. It didn't matter if he tried to hide his emotions; sometimes they could overwhelm him, and he knew his limitations.

He would fix them, turn his weaknesses into strengths, in time.

Tom let his thoughts slip from his mind, falling away with the tension in his shoulders. He moved towards the well, legs taking him almost without his consent. His breath rose in puffs as his breathing deepened.

The air was crisp and clean, and he idly wondered why it couldn't be like that all the time. He cleared the snow off the bench with a flick of his wand and sat. The stone felt wet against his hands, though he paid it no mind.

He let himself observe the clearing more closely, eyes long-adjusted to the near pitch darkness. He didn't bother to light his wand; he welcomed the endless span of black just as much as he enjoyed the silence.

There was no wind, nothing to shake the trees. To someone else, it might have been suffocating, but Tom embraced it. There was nothing to distract his thoughts and occupy his attention. Except himself, but he wouldn't let that happen.

Tom tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He felt like he was drowning in the relaxation, the feeling of bliss that had washed over him.

He knew he could lose himself in it, so he gently pulled his eyes open and threw away the sensation. He wasn't there to do nothing, he had to think.

Tom turned around, one leg pulled onto the bench and the other dangling over the side, so he could rest his head in the crook of his elbow. He wondered, if he could just throw a coin in the well, would his wish come true?

He wasn't quite sure what his wish _was_ , though. And it wouldn't work, even if he had all the money in the world and knew with absolute certainty what he wanted.

Tom traced meaningless patterns into the snow with a pale finger, analyzing his desires with a careful focus he hardly ever had to use.

Something—no, some _one_ , Tom corrected himself—had caught his attention. Perhaps if he refused to think about this in terms he wasn't sure he understood, he would know what to do. _Someone_ was safe. There was no need to get into specifics.

He didn't know why this—person caused his heart to pound so furiously, or threatened to cause a blush to appear on his admittedly pale skin. That would be _normal_ , Tom wasn't normal.

Everyone told him he was special, he knew. Sometimes he didn't want to be special, but there was nothing he could do about that. It was up to other people to decide whether or not he was different.

Tom bit his lip and observed a thin, silvery strand peeking out of the snow. The closed up bud was bright, and despite the lack of light, it gleamed.

An image of bright blond hair flashed in Tom's mind, so vivid and clear that he blinked hard to dispel it from his head. He was going to give himself a headache if he let that continue.

Tom heard someone step up behind him, but he didn't turn. He knew who it was.

"Tom, what are you doing out here? The Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason," Abraxas said lightly, amusement coloring his voice.

Tom sighed quietly, a quick sound that was hard to hear at all. He knew Abraxas would've heard him, though. He was like the brother Tom never had.

 _Are you so sure about that?_ the voice in Tom's head asked wryly. It sounded strangely like Abraxas.

"I needed to think, Abraxas," Tom replied shortly.

Abraxas hummed before he plopped himself down beside Tom, apparently ignoring Tom's irritated grunt. They were pressed together, side-by-side. The blond felt feverish to Tom.

"You're freezing cold," Abraxas stated.

Tom felt his friend shiver, and held back a smirk with an effort. Abraxas was always able to make him express more of himself. It was something Tom wasn't sure if he liked yet.

"No, I'm not," Tom argued softly.

He heard Abraxas snort.

"Sure," he said sarcastically.

Tom could practically _feel_ his friend roll his eyes. They lapsed into comfortable silence, and Tom couldn't seem to think anymore—not that he'd been doing much of that in the first place. He felt content to just sit with his only friend and do absolutely _nothing_.

There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

"What are you thinking about?" Abraxas asked softly, picking at a thread on Tom's shirt.

"Should I be honest?" Tom murmured.

"Yes. Always, with me," Abraxas replied immediately.

Tom sighed, knowing that he could never lie to Abraxas if he wanted to. Was that a weakness? If it was, Tom couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"We've known each other for a while," he started.

It was stalling, but what could Tom say? He would normally have quick-paced conversations with Abraxas, but the words just weren't coming to him.

"Yes," Abraxas said slowly.

Tom knew him well enough to know that the blond had an eyebrow raised.

"We could tell each other anything, no matter how odd, and we'd still be great friends?"

"Of course. You're like a brother to me," Abraxas said softly.

Tom wasn't sure why he felt reassured by that statement, if he was correct about his own feelings towards Abraxas.

"I'm not sure if I'm right, but I think—" Tom took a deep breath and turned around to look at the older boy. "I think I'm in love with you."

 _Abraxas could be a statue,_ Tom thought distantly, ignoring the pang of his heart. _Such a beautiful statue._

"I'm sorry, did I. . . I think I misheard you," Abraxas finally said, blinking hard.

"No, you heard correctly. I'm in love with you," Tom repeated.

His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

 _Damn my heart_ , Tom cursed himself. He should've lied to Abraxas.

Abraxas looked like someone slapped him. His chest rose and fell quickly, his blue eyes wide as he stared at Tom.

"Oh, Tom," he breathed.

Tom's breath hitched in his throat, and he tried to stamp down the hope that he felt.

"Tom, I didn't know," Abraxas continued, just as softly.

"I didn't know myself until recently," Tom whispered, breath-taken.

How could Abraxas be so handsome like that—snow in his hair and face flushed in the cold—as he prepared to tell Tom he would never love him the same way? It wasn't right.

"You know that I can't—that I'm betrothed? I could never be with you," Abraxas said quickly, the words tumbling from his mouth.

Tom turned back to the well, feeling strangely blank. He knew he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up; Abraxas didn't even look at him the same way. Abraxas was seventeen, handsome and rich, and Tom was just a thirteen-year-old orphan.

"I know," Tom whispered.

Abraxas' arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer. He was so warm.

"You know that I love you. . . in a different way," he murmured into Tom's ear.

Tom wanted to push him away, because it _hurt_ to hear those words and touch Abraxas, knowing it was never going to happen again and the blond didn't feel the same way. But at the same time, Abraxas was _holding him_ and telling him he _loved him_. Tom felt a sob catch in his throat. It wasn't the same thing; it would _never_ be.

"Could you ever be in love with me?" Tom asked.

He knew the answer, of course he did. But he needed to hear it from Abraxas, if Tom was ever going to be able to walk away and forget that this happened.

"No, Tom. I never could," Abraxas admitted.

 _At least he sounds sincere,_ Tom thought bitterly.

"Could you leave, please?" he asked Abraxas cordially.

He felt Abraxas hesitate, and chose that moment to grip Abraxas' arms and pull them away from his waist. His skin tingled everywhere Abraxas touched, and he ignored it.

"Of course," Abraxas said stiffly.

Tom didn't turn to look at the Malfoy heir when he left. He kept staring at the wishing well, imagining that he could just fall right in if his pain overcame him. That was _never_ something that might have crossed Tom's mind to do before, but Abraxas had always been able to change Tom. For better or for worse.

 _Could we still be friends after this? Would Abraxas be able to handle that? Would I be able to?_

Tom was sure that the answer was no. He couldn't bear the thought of Abraxas not returning his feelings, so how could he carry on if Abraxas _felt them for someone else_?

Tom wasn't consciously aware that he'd started crying. The tears were icy and stung his cheeks as they fell.

It hurt so much. He hadn't known that emotional pain was so strong. . . he hadn't had the _faintest idea_. It could wound him more than any bruise he'd received at the orphanage.

The cries tore from his chest against his will as the snowflakes fell more slowly. A few landed on his arms, and all around the well. His hair was probably covered in them, like Abraxas' had been before Tom told him to leave.

The tears rolled down his cheeks, they were small and few. He whimpered. It felt like someone had tore into his chest and was pulling out his heart. He didn't even know it was possible to feel that way.

Tom stared at nothing, vision blurry, as his mind rambled.

 _Why can't I be a snowflake too? Snowflakes don't have hearts. They don't love other snowflakes and they can't be hurt by them. They just fall from the sky and melt. I want to melt with them. I just want to melt. . ._

Tom fell asleep there, thoughts scrambled and nonsensical. When he woke, he was back in his dorm, under the covers in his four-poster bed. Abraxas must've taken him back.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He ignored it and stared at the green curtains pulled shut around him.

He wondered if Abraxas would've stayed with him, if they were still friends. Or was he with his betrothed? The thought made Tom's blood boil.

She didn't have any _fucking_ _right_ to be with Abraxas! She didn't love him. . . not like Tom did. Abraxas couldn't ever be with Tom, he knew, but that didn't mean he had to avoid him. They should've woken up together, like they used to do, when Tom would sneak into Abraxas' bed claiming that he was cold or had a nightmare.

But he wouldn't do that anymore, because _she_ would probably be with him. That was the real reason why Abraxas would never be in love with Tom, because he was already in love with someone else.

 _Damn her. Damn her and any children she may have. Damn them all!_ Tom thought vehemently, grinding his teeth painfully.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down.

Tom let his mask fall into place as he planned out his day. He had important things to do; he couldn't just sit around and let something as silly as love get in his way. He would never let it influence him again.

Tom _always_ kept his promises.

 _A/N: This is pretty much a headcanon of mine. Thanks for reading!_


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